The Start of Something
by Polly
Summary: Set after the Season 1 finale (spoiler alert). With the truth now revealed, could things ever really be the same again? When Jason disappears and his time is running out, it becomes more and more clear that a change, for better or worse, is coming. The boys are finally back together again! Complete.
1. Chapter 1

The Start of Something

**Chapter 1 – standard disclaimer applies in that the BBC owns them, not me.**

Warning – SPOILER ALERT. This is set after the season 1 finale. Don't read it, if you still want to watch it. This is the first of a series of stories that I have planned. I'm testing the waters with this one so I really hope you enjoy. All characters will get their time but this is mainly looking at Pasiphae/Aeson/Jason and their dynamic.

* * *

The midday sun hung high above the streets, swathing all from the lowliest to the loftiest in her suffocating heat. The pediment crowning Poseidon's temple gleamed bright white, its marble relief shining above the city of Atlantis. Temple and palace stood tall, side by side, looking down on their city below: protecting their citizens, warning their enemies.

From the temple's imposing entrance, a trickle of supplicants emerged onto the steps, immediately shading their eyes from the harsh, bright sun. Inside the temple, lofty and airy, the cooler temperatures had almost fooled them in to forgetting that they were all in the grip of the unforgiving season of summer. But the hovering flies, the lingering smell of market-stall vegetables laying too long in the heat and the beads of sweat already forming on their brows soon gave them cause to remember.

Muttering under their breath, the small crowd dispersed and in the silence that followed, a lone woman stepped out of the outer sanctum and onto the broad top step. Beneath her head scarf, gold glinted and threads of silver were suddenly illuminated, entwined in the elaborate tresses of her dark hair. The queen of Atlantis would not allow discomfort to mar her fine features though she gritted her teeth and steeled her resolve as she made her way back down the steps and home towards the palace.

Once more, she felt the burden of her sex as she grimly acknowledged that the Temple of Poseidon was one of the few places that, as a married woman, even as a queen, she could travel to without judgement or restriction. Her moves were monitored more closely now. Minos looked at her through guarded eyes. He was not the first husband to do so. Though the months past had softened his ire considerably, Pasiphae worked relentlessly to rebuild his trust.

A guard nodded and bowed to her as she passed through the palace gates but she paid him no heed. Her mind was rooted elsewhere, as it had been those past two months. Her stomach clenched and for a moment, she paused, resting one hand against a high stone wall. The pain was becoming all too familiar: sharp, wrenching pangs. _Be concerned for your own future_, the Oracle had warned her. Pasiphae let out a sharp, bitter laugh. When had she not? She drew in a deep breath, alarmed to feel the tremor in it. Composure must be regained before facing either Minos or worse, Ariadne.

Timing her visit to the Oracle had been crucial: facing her step-daughter was a bitter and scathing affair and Ariadne had, of late, taken to devoting much of her time to performing her duties to Poseidon. Minos, ever the doting father, liked to attribute this to his daughter's dedication to Atlantis and the Gods. But Pasiphae knew better. She may not have been the girl's true mother but women understood each other without the need for blood or affection. She pined. She pined for the same boy who had suddenly pierced a pinprick through a place in her own soul – a soul that the queen had all but forgotten existed. For once their purposes were not crossed but combined.

The Oracle, however, had remained stubbornly silent refusing to reveal to her the information she so desperately sought. _The gods revealed to her only what they saw fit_. Pasiphae did not believe a word of it! Was it so wrong of her? To want to know? To need to understand? She continued to fume. Poseidon's oracle held her tongue on purpose, of that she was certain. The conniving woman was steeped in secrets, even those that did not belong to her. She coveted the happiness of others; guarded another's treasures as if they were her own, lining her nest with stolen jewels and riches. Neither woman trusted the other but, despite her threats, Pasiphae knew she could not harm her. To murder Poseidon's oracle was a sacrilege that not even she dared commit.

The pain subsided and a slow ache took its place. Ah well. An ache had filled her heart for over twenty years. She had forgotten it, pushed it away until it had seeped down into the very core of her. She could do it again. Pasiphae pushed herself away from the wall, drew back her head scarf and swept along the path.

* * *

"Bloody sun!"

"You've said that already, Hercules." Pythagoras wiped the sweat from his forehead as he manoeuvred a street vendor's cart.

"Well, blasted flies, then!" The bulky man answered, swatting wildly at his grizzled face. The midday was a stupid time to have ventured out of doors. He should be in his house, sleeping. Or better still, in the tavern, drinking. Together, they rounded the corner that led to the palace, watching with a mixture of awe and dread as the way before them rose to the grandiose gates and gardens within. "Oh what are we even doing here?" he exclaimed, suddenly.

Beside him, his young friend slowed up to a halt. "Your irritability isn't exactly helping matters," he pointed out, as calmly as possible under the stifling conditions. "And I haven't heard you come up with any better suggestions."

"Anything's better than marching in to the palace! A place that, need I remind you, is forbidden for us to even _enter_."

The young mathematician sighed and ran a hand through his short blonde hair. "The princess may have news by now."

"It was foolhardy to have approached her in the first place. We're not _him_. We can't flit in and out of that place with the same kind of impunity that he seems to. I don't know what we thought she could do."

"_Something_! It's been a week, Hercules! Tell me you're not worried about him."

"I don't get worried," the older man protested, gruffly, though the lines on his face belied his words. "He's probably off moping somewhere. You'll see. He'll come marching back through our front door any time now with barely a word of explanation or apology for making you worry. That's the ingratitude of youth for you. And their impetuousness. Present company excepted, I suppose. He needs a clout round the ear, not sympathy!"

"Moping?" Pythagoras replied, incredulously. "Seriously? For a week? I know Jason's taken to his solitude lately but this is extreme, even for him. And anyway, he wasn't moping. He was _hunting_. Trying to keep food on the table to feed _your_ belly. Mainly."

"Rubbish. Ever since Minos told him to keep away from his daughter, Jason's been pining away like a love-sick fool."

"And I suppose you would know nothing of that, would you?" The days of stress and the prickly heat had taken their toll on the normally placid and mild-mannered genius.

Immediately, Hercules stiffened, his eyes hardening. "That's not fair," he protested, darkly. "The woman _I_ love is cursed by the Gods and banished to a life of misery, danger and solitude. _His_ princess is safe in her palace, separated from him by a few slabs of stone. If they truly wanted to see each other the most perilous feat they'd have to accomplish is to stand either side of an open window and shout. _Do not_ compare the two!"

A moment later and Pythagoras bowed his head "I'm sorry," he said, sincerely. "I know it's not the same, it's just…"

"You're worried about him. I know. It's in your nature. You fuss." Then his tone softened and he placed a meaty hand on the young man's shoulder. "We'll find him, Pythagoras, I promise." He gave the bony shoulder a reassuring squeeze and was rewarded by one of his friend's easy smiles.

"I know," he affirmed with a nod of forced confidence. He reached up one hand to gently pat Hercules' hand. "Now let's go and see the princess. I asked her to meet us by the kitchen doors, in my note." He glanced up at the sun overhead, afternoon shadows starting to lengthen against the terracotta walls of the narrow street buildings. "We shouldn't keep her waiting."

"The kitchens?" Hercules repeated, his eyebrows raising. "Well I suppose it can't hurt to ask."

Pythagoras smiled, shook his head and moved on, turning the corner that led to the palace and spurring Hercules to follow. "And I suppose if they happen to have _pies_, then the plight of your friend will not be for naught."

"_If _they have pies or some other concoction of pastry delights then Jason would understand, my friend, believe me. And I'd save him one. I am not a heartless man."

* * *

A light breeze had caught the silk hangings that adorned the walls of the passage ways and gently billowed them out, ruffling their edges. Shining ivory rippled, like the ocean whose sea breezes, even at this distance, were the cause of such welcome relief from the heat. The movement caught Pasiphae's eye as she stepped from her chambers into the passageway. There were none within the palace walls who dared utter personal remarks about the lives of the royal family – if ever there had been thought of dissention then Ariadne's near fate had quashed any stirrings of it. But still, they _noticed_ – the servants who brought fresh bedclothes, who served refreshments to her and her husband: it had been some time since the king had shared her bedchamber.

It was to be expected after such a gruelling illness, Pasiphae told herself, weaving her lies intricately into their place in her web. Minos needed space to recuperate properly. His strength returned every day but nights could be difficult. Unpleasant. It wasn't fair to expose his queen to such disruption. Far kinder to move to temporary rooms. Not too far from her but nor too close. As if on cue, his doors opened, further down the passage way and Pasiphae almost held her breath so unused to these feelings of uncertainty, of threads unravelling. Her lies hung like diamond dewdrops. Do they acknowledge each other today? Shall their eyes meet and look away? Do they speak?

She will nod, of course, respectfully. Always respectfully. Always humble. Acquiescing. Loving. Lying.

She watched him turn from her direction, as yet, unaware of her presence. Where were his guards, she wondered? He was rarely far from them these days past. His dark blue robes swished the stone-flagged floor as he moved. Taller now, she noted; straighter. It had hurt him at first, maintaining this posture but Minos had not been dissuaded from it. His people needed to see their king strong, capable, ready and able to protect them. His perseverance, that bead of sweat nearly imperceptible on his brow, almost twinged her heart.

Was there ever a time, she found herself wondering, in all the years she had lived with him when she had been tempted, even for a day, to simply be his wife? To let that content her? When the driving passion for power might have been usurped by a passion for something else? He showed surprising moments of strength and blazing passion and it was almost a tragedy, she lamented, that she could not share power with this man. But that would be impossible. _He_ could not be controlled and _Atlantis_ would not let a queen rule in her own right.

Creating an heir with Minos would have been the most logical solution to her problems, especially once the problem of Minos' son, Therus had been dealt with. Their child would have been accepted by all, a child contained and controlled. Heptarian had always been an outside chance but one she had driven to its bitter end. And Minos, however reluctant to jeopardise his children's inheritance, _could_ have been persuaded if she had truly applied herself to the cause.

And yet she had not. Perhaps her heart did not have the capacity to mother another child. Not since the last had been ripped from her bosom while still in swaddling clothes. Ripped from her shrivelling heart. For a moment, she had tried to fill the void with her nephew and, not for the first time, her heart clenched for the young man, cremated with dubious honour as his leading role in Ariadne's plight had been given unfortunate but necessary attention. He would have understood, she told herself, joined as they were in purpose, but the lies still stung. He was blood and though no one spoke his name within _these_ walls, the queen kept a place for him within her _own_.

This, however, was a day is seemed when her husband either would not or could not acknowledge her as he continued silently on towards the throne room. She paused by the intricately arched windows giving him time to move out of sight. But suddenly, to her surprise, he turned to her as if aware of her presence all along, as if reaching a decision. His eyes found hers and locked in place.

Pasiphae fancied she felt her heart thud a little more prominently against her ribs as the man before her seemed to grow.

"Pasiphae." His voice, low and clear, carried across the distance like a whetstone on a sword's edge.

"My Lord?"

She bowed slightly at the shoulders, lowering her gaze for a moment before raising it once more to meet his. A look fleeted across his face, features worn by time and grief, eyes hardened with something else. She saw it, pinned it into her memory – that flicker of emotion so long absent. With soft but purposeful steps, he approached her until they stood, a breath apart. She could see the new streaks of grey through his beard and, for a second, wanted to comment on them.

Still, she waited, watched as her husband shifted the weight on his feet. It could have been the last vestiges of illness, but to his wife, she saw the moment of nervousness. When he did not speak immediately, Pasiphae swept in. "You seem well, my Lord. Stronger. I am very glad to see it."

"Yes." His voice sounded strangely torn, hesitant. "I am. Stronger, that is." He paused and looked away for a moment. "I no longer…require such separate chambers. It would be…_improper_, under the circumstances." He met her eyes. "You understand, of course?"

"Of course," the queen agreed, her voice, milk and honey. Minos cleared his throat, sharply.

"If you have no objections then, I shall have my belongings brought back to your...to _our_ chambers."

With a rapid heart beating in her chest, Pasiphae nodded, demurely. "As you say, my Lord, it is the wisest course of action."

Suddenly, his expression turned sharp, mocking. "The cloak of acquiescence lays poorly on your shoulders. Without the fire in your eyes, I have one more reason to not recognise my own wife." And for just a second, that fire flared up before him and the beginnings of a smile played at the corner of his mouth, teasing the lines of his habitual grimace, into something lighter. "Better," he remarked and Pasiphae almost balked at being forced to be the puppet, rather than the master. Instead, she smiled at him.

"Walk with me," Minos commanded. "There are plans I must make and your counsel…has been missed." He admitted this last part very quietly and as he began to walk, the queen fell in step beside him.

"Of course, my Lord. What plans are these?"

"A suitor for Ariadne. She will be a wonderful queen but a city without a king is vulnerable and a queen without a husband will be the focus of much unwanted attention. My illness has brought into focus that which I should have done, long ago. How can I leave this world knowing I have not secured a man to protect and honour my daughter as he protects and honours this kingdom?"

Pasiphae turned cold as she walked. Already? The king already sought a new suitor? Whatever plans she must make must be made soon. "Ariadne does not seem keen on finding a husband. Her heart and mind are devoted to her duty to Poseidon and to Atlantis."

"Precisely," Minos agreed. "And it is her duty to Atlantis that will not fail us. She will do what is right. I have the utmost faith in her."

Of course you do, Pasiphae thought. But will you acknowledge where her heart truly lies? Or is that one truth a father can never admit to himself, no matter how royal the blood that courses through father and daughter?

"There is no-one within Atlantis who serves our purposes. I must admit, despite her refusal, I had harboured hopes that, given time, Ariadne would come to accept Heptarian after all." He ignored his wife's tightening jaw. "Therefore, I must look to the princes of our allies, or perhaps those we wish to build alliances with. Though I…hesitate to risk putting Atlantis under the yolk of another city state, I do not know what else I can do."

They came to the grand double doors of the throne room and paused while the attendants moved swiftly to open them. "Minos," Pasiphae began softly. "You speak the truth and with both the wisdom and grief of a father and a king. But I beg you to wait, just a few months longer. Ariadne needs time to settle, time to adjust to this idea. Neither matters of the land nor matters of the heart do well when rushed and given time, new possibilities are often waiting to present themselves." She placed a hand on his arm and they were both suddenly painfully aware of the first physical contact they had shared in weeks. Her fingers squeezed his forearm gently and sent tiny pricks of heat along his arm.

She could feel his blood pulse beneath her fingers and she could not help her smile.

A moment later and Minos nodded. "You are right," he conceded, entering the throne room as the servants within bowed and moved aside for him. "There is no pressing need right at this time."

A movement to the corner of the room suddenly drew Pasiphae's attention: a man stood, dressed in the uniform of a guard though it lay ill-fitting across his bulky frame. He was hugging the shadows next to the servant's entrance to the room and though he waited patiently, face impassive, the queen felt her pulse quicken and her palms begin to itch. Their eyes met, for a fraction of a second then he turned and silently left the room.

"I am glad to offer you counsel once more," she said. "Now, I can see you have matters of state to attend to, so if you have no further need of me….?"

"No, you may take your leave." She nodded and turned to go. "And, my queen?" Pasiphae turned gracefully on the spot, one eyebrow raised. "Thank you."

And his wife smiled and bowed and somewhere inside of her, felt that she _should_ have been rejoicing at the turn of events. Only she wasn't. She couldn't for something far more important had just taken precedence and she did not yet know if she should be filled with despair or hope.

* * *

"Nothing?" Pythagoras' heartbroken plea pierced at Ariadne's already torn heart.

The princess of Atlantis had slipped her guards and moved smoothly through the kitchens to meet her visitors in the little courtyard just outside the doors. If the servants felt it strange to see their future queen standing amongst the hanging pheasants, the baskets of fresh-caught fish, bunches of herbs, drying from the wooden roof beams or the well-cultivated vegetable gardens then they had sense enough to keep their silence.

And now she resisted the urge to place a comforting hand on the young man's arm. It would have been inappropriate and she was already held under tight scrutiny for just such sentiments. It did not help matters that her own failure to uncover Jason's whereabouts had given her night after night of sleepless worry. He would not do this to his friends – to any of them. Not if he had a choice.

"I am sorry, Pythagoras," she consoled. "I have asked the guards that I still trust to be on the look-out for him and sent word with messengers to return with news."

"And no-one's heard anything?"

"Have there been any fights or skirmishes, your highness?" Hercules asked, though the sincerity of the question could not help but be belied at the bulging pockets of pastries and sweetmeats. Ariadne had pointedly refused to comment on the theft. Without the news of hope that they so desperately sought her for, it seemed the least she could offer.

"Some," she answered. "Around the taverns. I do not mean to be indelicate but I would imagine you knew more of those matters than I. But none on the outskirts of the cities. None in the forests or in the paths that track across the desert and into neighbouring lands. Nothing that would indicate he had encountered trouble."

"But trouble encounters _him_," Pythagoras pointed out. "They're old bed-fellows. So to speak." He trailed off at a pointed look from Hercules and cleared his throat, almost apologetically. "Is there nothing more you can do? No other men you can have looking?" He watched, already suspecting the answer as the princess' face creased in regret.

"I am truly sorry," she said and it was clear that she meant it. "But since…recent events, my father is watching me more closely than ever. My…_relationship_ with Jason is under scrutiny and there are so few in the palace that I trust now." She sighed, regretfully and Pythagoras suddenly noticed how truly worn she looked. "I am not sure who I can count as a friend, who I can hold in my confidence to act with discretion and not to get Jason, or you both or myself into even more danger. Certainly not the majority of the palace guards or the men in my father's employ."

The young man smiled and despite his disappointment, the warmth in his eyes was genuine. "Please do not explain any further. We understand." Ariadne had seen more betrayal in the past few months than most experienced in their lifetimes: Korrina's tragic murder still weighed heavy on her heart and shoulders and Ione's testament against her had robbed the girl of the last friend she thought she knew within the palace. For all her finery and the love of her father, Pythagoras could see how lonely her life had become.

"Yes," Hercules piped up, with perhaps overenthusiastic gusto, "you know Jason. He's always getting himself in and out of these spots. I'm sure he'll be fine and in the meantime, we'll keep looking."

"Of course we will," Pythagoras agreed, wondering whether it would be treacherous to reach out a reassuring hand to place on the young woman's arm.

"I have loyal men about Atlantis, hidden discretely within the walls of the taverns," the large man proclaimed with a confident smile.

"You do?" Pythagoras questioned, trying not to let his surprise show in front of the princess.

"Yes! Cunning spies of stealth and tracking. They will sniff him out in no time, Princess."

Pythagoras half turned to his friend while smiling tightly at Ariadne. "You don't mean Mylos, do you?"

"He's a good man, Pythagoras."

"I've never seen him sober."

"All to help him blend in to the background," Hercules insisted, a little more forcefully, daring his friend to object any further. Wisely, Pythagoras did not. He simply gave a small, embarrassed smile to Ariadne while Hercules swept on. "Don't you worry, Your Highness. All will be well. We will send you news when we find him." Then he stopped a second. "Uh, if you _want_ us to, that is?"

For her part, Ariadne could not help but smile at their banter. She imagined Jason, trading good-natured barbs with his friends, sitting round a table late into the night, sharing a wine skein and laughing with ease. She imagined herself in the picture for a moment, sharing a smile, a joke, a memory and her heart clenched painfully in her chest. And then, in the story in her mind, she gradually heard the raucous laughter of Hercules fade away and the patient stories of Pythagoras melt into nothing, leaving just her and Jason. Alone and together. It was so simple and it hurt so much.

But the two, honest and caring faces in front of her brought her mind back to the present and she couldn't help but smile. "Thank you, both. I am sure, as you say, he will be alright. I will continue to do what I can but yes, news of your success would be most welcome. You may relay it through Melas in the temple. I go there every day so it is probably the safest way."

A sound in the kitchen suddenly made them jump. It was only the innocent thump of a ball of dough being kneaded with relentless vigour on a flour-covered table but it reminded them all that it was not safe to protract the clandestine meeting any longer than necessary. Ariadne cast her gaze about for her guards. They were not so slow that they would not find her eventually.

"Now you had better leave," she told the men, quietly. They nodded their agreement and Ariadne indicated a small, arched wooden doorway, nestled into a red-brick wall at the end of the garden. "That door leads out onto a small stream. There are only some washer women there at this time of day and you need pay them no heed." They followed the line of her finger and could indeed just make out the sounds of splashing and rubbing of clothes and the faint strains of merry conversation. "Just follow the stream to the east," she continued, "and it will lead you back to the city streets."

"Thank you, Princess," Pythagoras said earnestly as he and Hercules backed towards the rear of the garden. "For meeting with us and for all that you've done."

"We'll send word, Your Highness," Hercules promised and with that, he and Pythagoras hastily made their way through the gate, leaving Ariadne to watch them a moment longer, before turning back to the kitchens.

* * *

The antechamber was small but served her purpose well. Being situated at the back of the palace, it overlooked nothing more than a small vegetable garden and was on a route rarely travelled by visitors or the palace guard. In fact, she could see no other use for it than for a meeting that should not be taking place.

"Show me," she demanded sharply and the man in the shadows took one step forward, his gloved hand outstretched. Within the man's grasp was a folded piece of parchment and the queen's eyes almost glinted at the sight of it. However, before her fingers could close around it, the man withdrew his hand, ever so slightly.

Pasiphae narrowed her eyes dangerously but her companion appeared un-perturbed. "You understand, Your Majesty, that this is as far as I or my men will go?" The queen almost snarled in contempt but she nodded all the same.

"I have given you nearly a week and it is only now that you come to me with results. Had you and _your men_," she nearly spat the word, "been the last band of mercenaries alive I would have sought other means before seeking your services again." And with that, she snatched the parchment from his fingers and allowed herself a moment of open eagerness, unfolding it and greedily soaking up its contents. As her eyes roamed the few, short words, Pasiphae felt her heart leap into her throat:

_He has been found._

"Where?" she demanded, immediately. "What use is this without instructions? I warn you, if you mean to extract further payment from me in exchange for directions then you will _not_ enjoy my method of reimbursement." Her voice was hard, low and soft and, for a moment, her fingers danced around the gilded hilt of the silver dagger that lay hidden in the folds of her dress. No-one with an ounce of common sense or breath of self-preservation would dare to ignore the warning and to be fair, her scarred companion seemed to have sense enough to rethink what he was about to say. Still, he grinned at her, whether in appreciation or in amusement it was not clear but Pasiphae let it slide. For now.

"My scouts tracked him east through the forests bordering Atlantis and from there, north through desert paths and up to the Mountains of Galena."

The queen's curiosity was piqued. "Why would he take such a path? Who has travelled with him?"

"No-one – it seems he travelled alone. Hunting, by the looks of it," he added, almost with a smirk. "Though it looks as though he was more the hunt_ed_ than the hunt_er_."

"_Why_?" The ferocity with which she shot the question at him really _did_ make him retreat a step. She was nose to nose with him now and though he dwarfed her by at least a foot, her presence towered ominously over him as a blackness appeared to enshroud her.

The man tried not to swallow. His adam's apple bobbed fractionally. At her level, she was just the right height to rip it out of his throat and the understanding passed silently between them. "My men tracked his final position to a series of caves in the mountainside. They found dried blood on a rocky scree leading up to the caves though most of it had been worn away. It looked like some kind of animal attack. There were tracks and footprints and a blood trail led up to the caves."

Pasiphae paused for a second to consider his words though she gave him no more breathing room. "How do you know the footprints were his? For that matter, how do you know it was _he_ that was injured and not the animal?"

A rustling sound suddenly drew the queen's hand to her dagger, hackles raised. However, though his hand _had_ gone to the pouch on his belt, it was not a weapon he withdrew. No. It was far more unnerving than that. A small heap of dark leather and gleaming silver sat crumpled in the palm of his hand. Wordlessly, he held it out for her to take, which she did, letting it dangle, tantalisingly before her eyes. She watched the sun from the narrow window catch the silver horns, the symbol of Poseidon's oracle, as it spun gently on the end of its leather strap. "It was found half buried in sand, next to the blood and the signs of a struggle. My guess is he made it up the scree and to the caves for shelter." A pause. "Or he was dragged there."

The man's words seemed to wash over Pasiphae as her attention was transfixed on the tiny trinket. Her breath caught in her throat. How many times had she seen him wear this? The young man with his brazen disrespect for authority, with his selfless courage, with his disarming, almost shy smile and with _her_ eyes. She saw him now, slipping carefree through the streets of Atlantis with those _peasants_ he called his friends, arms loosely draped around one another as they stumbled home from the tavern, happily arguing. The queen saw him as clearly in that moment as she had during all those many nights when she would steal from the palace into the town, cloaked and hidden, to watch her son secretly. To be a part of his life the only way she knew how. The only way she could allow it.

Suddenly her eyes, since misted by memories, turned sharp and pale and bore right in to her subject. "How badly was he injured? Why has he not returned to Atlantis?"

At this, he looked as uncomfortable as she had seen him look since their dealings began. "If you have done anything to…to that boy," she began, smouldering dangerously.

Raising his hands in defence, the man backed up a step or two. "We've done nothing to the boy," he insisted, hotly. "We have pieced together that after he had entered the cave, the ground trembled. We've heard talk of the quakes from people in those parts. The caves," he explained, "they're not stable. When my men saw it they said that the whole bloody roof seemed to have come down – half the mountainside slid down from top to ground!" Pasiphae felt her bones grow cold. "There was nothing we could have done," he continued. "And in any event, you didn't pay us to play nursemaid to foolhardy boys who try hunting so far from home without any help _or_ sense, it would seem."

He took advantage of the queen's internalising to hastily trace a path around her and make it to the door. Queen Pasiphae's temper was renowned in his circles and he wanted a clean exit. Feeling safety, his fingers upon the latch, he threw out one last parting shot: "We're certainly not digging our way through a wall of rock and earth to get to him. It's been five days now. If he's still alive and still worth seeking out, I hope you have men willing to help you. You won't do it alone."

At that, Pasiphae forced herself back to the moment at hand, cursing her temporary weakness. The Mountains of Galena? Something in her chest trembled. Perhaps not _men_ but yes, she knew a _man_. The only man, as it turns out, who she could possibly have confided in, in the first place. But whether or not he would see her was another matter entirely. But this was not for the ears of a thug such as this. "Get out," she spat, quietly. He deserved no more of her words or time. She turned her back to him, casting her gaze out of the window and down onto the little garden below. A little surprised at being so summarily dismissed, the man lifted the latch and pulled open the door.

"And you may return that guard's uniform from wherever you stole it," the queen said, still with her back to him. "The likes of _you_ are not fit to be seen in it."

Unseen by the queen, a look of surprise and then anger flashed across the man's scarred and hooded face but he only grunted quietly and then slipped outside, shutting the door behind him. Her thoughts were whirling inside her head. Her fingers ran over and over the smooth metal of the necklace. She pressed her thumb hard into the points of the silver horns, hard enough to feel the pain, to relish that connection with the youth. Five days? In this heat? Injured? Trapped. Did he have water? Food? Air to breathe? Was he bleeding still? Could he move? Was it _at all possible_ that her son still lived?

_Yes_. Because he was _her_ son. And because she had lost him once and would not lose him again. And by the gods, though his father stole him away the first time, _this_ time, he would be the one to give him back to her.

A steely determination gritted her soul and she took a deep, unwavering breath feeling the air swell into her lungs. It breathed new purpose into her and she leaned towards the open window to breathe in deeper. In the distance, disappearing along the path of the stream, the queen looked harder for a moment, sure she had seen the retreating forms of two men that she recognised. But it mattered not. Time was not on her side, nor her son's and she had much to prepare.

* * *

Thanks for reading this far. If you'd like to drop me a note, I'd love to hear from you.


	2. Chapter 2

The Start of Something – Chapter 2

Standard disclaimer applies – I don't own them, the BBC does.

If you've made it to chapter 2, then thanks for sticking with me and I really hope you enjoy this. Thanks for all your encouragement so far. I really hope people enjoy the next part :)

* * *

The path to the mines of Pangeon was not an easy one to climb. But she had done it nonetheless. Her robes, she had discarded a short distance from the palace, stowing them into a saddle bag and swapping flowing gowns for more practical trousers and tunic, belted at the waist and, despite the heat of the day, wrapped in a thin, grey hooded cloak. Summer nights held on to their warmth, especially when surrounded by stone and rock but she knew enough to realise that higher in the mountains, temperatures could drop rapidly. Stumbling once again on the rocky terrain, the queen was also immensely glad for the thick-soled leather boots encasing her feet, rather than her delicately strapped sandals.

Her horse whinnied down below her, but though it grazed on what little vegetation it could find, it did not break free from its tether. The black beast was magnificent: strong, fast, beautiful. She had chosen him from a yearling and, when he was ready to be saddled, had broken him herself. Their bond was strong and he had carried her, faultlessly, to her mountains.

The caves rose in the foreground and Pasiphae felt a moment of apprehension pass through her. Her former husband, it appeared, could have this affect on her though for the life of her, she could not understand why. She had long since given up the guilt. Aeson had brought about his own fate with his unwavering stance, with his unreasonable demands and with his staunch unwillingness to share power, to admit that his wife possessed a wisdom that he did not.

And then he stole her child. Nothing she had done to him or _could ever_ do to him, could make up for what he did to her.

With that thought in mind, she hardened her mettle for the task ahead and closed the last of the gap between her and the old mine's entrance, hoisting herself up the ascending path of rocks. He would be watching, or his people would. She knew that. She would not be catching him unawares.

True enough, when she reached the gaping black entrance and stood, regaining her breath for just a moment, a movement in the darkness ahead of her caused her to stiffen. And then he emerged from the shadows, the man she knew, the man she loved at one time and the man she had cursed.

"Aeson," she whispered. He drew back his tattered hood to reveal his ruined features. His eyes were cold, hard and brimming with betrayal. And curiosity. She could see that there as well.

"What do you want, Pasiphae?" he asked, his voice dull and hard. She looked him straight in the eye (one of those eyes being considerably easier to look at than the other).

"We have matters to discuss."

"We have _nothing_ to discuss and you must leave this place." He paused. "The people here know me as Tychon. None know my true identity."

Though she had meant to come as a supplicant, Pasiphae could not help herself. She scoffed. "Well as I have no intention of conversing deep within the bosom of the leper community, you may ease your mind with the knowledge that your secret will not be betrayed by me."

Aeson's smile was twisted and unpleasant. "I heard rumour that King Minos' health is much improved."

She nodded, her voice guarded. "That is true."

"My condolences," he smirked. "So tell me then, before you leave this place and leave me to my peace: what _have_ you come here for? The only matter we might possibly have to discuss is…" His voice became tight and twisted: "_settled_." Pure hatred, the likes of which almost made Pasiphae blanch, were channelled towards the queen.

"It is _that matter_ which we must indeed discuss." She paused a moment, squared up with him, letting her meaning sink in. "_Our son_."

"_Do not_ call him that!" he cried, slicing a hand across the air in front of her. Despite herself, she jumped back at his intensity. However, she would not be cowed for long.

"And why should I not?" she demanded. "You may have stolen him from me but you cannot change the truth! He is just as much mine as he is yours. You act as though I would have poisoned him, _destroyed_ him!" She was breathing heavily now, fire burning brightly in her eyes as she rounded on her former love. "But did it ever occur to you that I might have protected him? _Loved_ him?"

"You had nothing left in you to love _with_."

And though she opened her mouth to continue their argument, thrilled as she was for a moment to be back in the heat of passion, she abruptly closed it again. This was not the time and time was itself a crucial factor. "The past is done," she announced far quieter but no less urgent. Aeson noted the change in her and immediately became alert. For his wife to back down from a fight, to lower her voice for the sake of peace rather than a warning, spoke of things far worse than a bitter reconciliation.

She reached into a leather bag, slung over one shoulder and withdrew the necklace. Aeson gasped when he saw it. "He's hurt," Pasiphae announced. "He needs help. Quickly."

"What have you done to him?" Aeson breathed, reaching out a hand for his son's necklace. Immediately, she snatched it away and replaced it in her bag.

"I have done nothing, you fool! Do you really think I would bother seeking help for him if I had? I realised the disease would wither your face but I _had_ thought I was leaving you your _senses_ in tact."

"Then why do you have his necklace?" he demanded. Thoughts of Jason lying murdered at his mother's hands flew dizzyingly round his mind. But even as he thought them, Pasiphae's words started to make sense. She would not be here if she had harmed him. But then, what?

"Why I have the necklace is none of your concern. Suffice it to say that Jason is injured and trapped in a cave nearby, in the mountains."

"Trapped? For how long?" Seeing the grim lines of her face, his own paled. "In these conditions?" he wondered aloud. "The caves can be cold if you aren't dressed for them and he will need water. There are underground streams that he might yet find, though." His voice took on strength as he registered the hope in his own musings. "He's strong," he suddenly insisted. "And resourceful. He'll find a way."

"It's possible," Pasiphae admitted, slowly, "that he was attacked by an animal before taking shelter in the cave. They found blood. He was wounded. I don't know how badly but it's been five days and if the wound is infected…" And for once, Aeson looked at the woman he married, not the monster she became. She was afraid, vulnerable and he was the only one she had to turn to.

He watched as she forced a timbre of strength back into her voice. "It is possible he cannot move freely. There were earth tremors. They shook the cave and mountainside and caused both the roof of the cave to collapse and the entrance to be blocked. It cannot be shifted."

Aeson's gaze was far off, his thoughts in uproar as hope warred with cold logic. "Then you tell me my son is dead," he whispered in disbelief, shaking his head.

"I _tell_ _you_ to find a way around this!" she snapped, fiercely and her voice was like a clap of thunder, breaking through his stupor. "I do not have time for us to argue or for you to wail like a hysterical woman! I have supplies of food and water, rope, the means for light and basic tools but I need _you_ to guide us. You know caves inside and out and you know this area. Did you feel the tremors these days past?"

With grim determination, Aeson nodded. "We felt them and in the area around us." Moving out past Pasiphae, he stood at the edge of the cliff face where the elevation afforded him a good view of the surrounding terrain and the mountains. "There." He pointed off to the distance and, reluctantly drawing nearer to him, Pasiphae followed where he pointed.

Less than half a mile away the vegetation and rocks on the side of a mountain had obviously been disturbed, lying in a high, thick wall of earth and stone in front of the mountain's face. "Does that tally with your information on where he was last seen?"

She thought for a moment on his question, heart pounding in her throat. Were they so close? She hardly dared believe it. Inwardly, she traced the directions she had been given, saw the ascent of the rocky scree below the blocked entrance and half imagined that she could even see the last remnants of dried blood on the uneven rocks.

"Yes," she announced, still training her eyes on the scene before her. "I am sure of it."

* * *

It was with some reluctance that Pasiphae allowed Aeson to help her down the uneven terrain of the rocky slopes from the silver mines. Her pride would mend quicker than a broken ankle, she told herself as he grasped her waist to lift her down the final drop and onto even footing.

They silently turned away from each other the moment he released her and the queen headed straight for her horse, Aeson following. She untied the reins from the tree that it had been tethered to and combed her fingers through its forelock, smoothing her other hand along its sleek ebony neck. Beside her, Aeson looked on, somewhat taken aback at the tenderness of the actions. Then she removed the saddle bags and handed them to her former husband before leading the horse deeper into the shade of some trees.

"There's a small brook a little further along." She almost started at the intrusion of his voice, coming from behind her. Irritably she snapped her head round to the side.

"What of it?" she demanded.

Aeson could not keep the amusement out of his voice when he replied: "If we're to be a while, it might be kinder to water him. There's plenty of shade and grass, too." He glanced over towards the caves that waited for them on the other side of the plain. "It's nearer to the cave, too. Far easier to move him if we have a horse." Aeson watched her jaw work itself and the muscles in her arms start to tense. It had not been his intention to rile her this time but the reaction would always be welcome all the same. It would not be long, he knew, before she reached the same conclusion and he wasn't wrong. A moment later and she nodded, tersely.

Silently, she let him lead the way, across the terrain until they came to small grove of trees which grew next to another dangerously jagged ascent of rocks. A thin row of trees lined the circumference of the plain, nestled snugly in-between the mountains. Looking up from where they stood, the evidence of the landslide seemed impenetrable. "This way," Aeson told her, quietly, leading them all deeper into the trees until they arrived at a small brook. After the horse had been seen to, Aeson opened the saddle bags and took stock of their contents. He raised his eyebrows, perhaps in appreciation. The gesture was not missed. "Have I anticipated all that we will need?" Pasiphae asked, sweetly mocking, her arms folded defiantly across her abdomen. She levelled a pointed look at him and Aeson was forced to nod, begrudgingly. "We might have done with a few more strips of cloth to bandage wounds and perhaps some herbs for a poultice." He glanced about the grassy banks of the stream and the surrounding trees. "We might find something here, though."

Pasiphae pursed her lips and made no reply. Without a word, she scanned the fauna and moved off a pace, kneeling down in the dirt and uprooting small, flowering blue plants. Then she swiftly moved to the base of a myrtle tree and dug out some roots, growing in a twisted nest. A few more plants here and there, were quickly but expertly added to the mix. When done, she rose and returned to Aeson, stuffing the plants into her leather belt pouch. She raised one eyebrow to the man, who watched her with an air of passivity: a challenge, thrown down to him. The old king gave a crooked half smile.

"Let none say that Queen Pasiphae does not know her herb-lore." Then he swung about and back-tracked their path, heading out towards the plain that separated them from the caves they needed. "But you should probably let me do the mixing," he called back to her as she was forced to stride quickly to catch up. "After all, I can't imagine when you last combined those ingredients to make a concoction that _healed_." He watched, with grim satisfaction, as her flushed face darkened at his words. "Wouldn't want any unfortunate accidents, would we?"

"Just serve your purpose, Aeson," she snarled. "The sooner we have Jason free and back in Atlantis, the sooner we may quit each other's company."

He made no reply to her comment, but instead, indicated the way up. "It's getting dark quickly," he pointed out. "We must make good time if we're to find a way in." He glanced down at the unlit torch, removed from the saddle bags. "We should save the torches for when we get inside the caves if we can help it." Immediately, her eyes shot up towards the immoveable wall of rock.

"You cannot mean to shift it?" she asked, though logic already guided her thoughts away from the notion. Still, she noted his bitter, mirthless laugh and pressed her lips tightly together.

"Clearly, I left you with a grander impression of my talents than I had believed," he scoffed but before an argument could escalate, he pressed on. "There are many entrances to caves such as these. There's a path that winds west around the mountain. My people and I have travelled it on occasion. It's our best chance of finding another entrance." He cast an appraising eye over her. "Are you able to keep up? I don't need you slowing me down. It may be wiser for you to wait for me here."

"You always were a fool to doubt me, Aeson and we have wasted enough time! The evening is drawing in so let us move." And with that, she pushed past where he stood, hoisting her bag more securely over her shoulder. Sighing wearily, Aeson followed, moving ahead of her to guide them. The climb was not easy. The way up rose in steep increments and jagged outcroppings of rock interspersed their journey. Several times they had reached out to grasp each other's wrists to stop themselves from slipping. They found the path that wound round and up the mountainside easily enough but with the fading light, the secure route became harder and harder to navigate. Where the path narrowed so only one could safely pass, the earth on the outside crumbled worryingly as their feet trod too near it. It was not the animosity between them that kept both former partners silent: their concentration was rooted to the way up.

How much further to go? Pasiphae wondered as the first moments of doubt crept into her mind. Had she given any thought to what would happen once she found Jason? If he was awake, what questions would he have for her? How was she to explain her presence to a young man who believed she wanted him dead? And if he discovered the truth – what then? By the gods, what would Minos say? Not for the first time, she found herself wading in murky depths. Just how far would her re-awakening maternal nature allow her to travel on this dangerous path? Aeson believed she could not harm her own son, but both of them knew it was a sentiment built on sand.

Casting her gaze about her, one thing she knew for certain was that if they found Jason alive, moving him in the dark would be next to impossible. None should make the return trek before day break, not if they valued their lives.

Suddenly, she saw the shadowy outline of Aeson hold up a forestalling hand, just ahead of her. Obligingly, she stopped, a question hovering on her lips. "Here," Aeson intoned. She followed his gaze and saw that she was looking at a large crevice in the side of the mountain. It was wide enough for both to pass through side by side and high enough that they need not stoop. Aeson fumbled in the saddle bag until he had found the torch. Quick and skilful flint work sparked up the necessary flame and soon, the oil soaked cloth was burning brightly around the head of the torch.

He passed the bag back to Pasiphae who took it without comment as he lifted the torch ahead of them, lighting their way into the inky blackness.

"Is this way safe?" she asked, her voice sounding startlingly loud in their cavernous surroundings. Aeson peered further inside the opening and stepped in. "Wait here a moment," he instructed and then he was gone, disappeared into the gloom. Pasiphae tried not to count the moments as she listened to the sounds of his shuffling footsteps moving deeper inside. The wind picked up around her and a sudden strong gust had her gripping tightly on to the jutting rock along the wall. A temptation to call out his name was thankfully rendered obsolete when he suddenly re-emerged.

He beckoned her on with one finger. "This is the way," he announced. "The air is staler the deeper the passage winds but it's breathable and we can pass unobstructed." Pasiphae nodded and took one step over the threshold. Then she paused.

"How will we find our way back to the front entrance?"

Aeson's reply was more saddened than bitter. "I've spent nearly twenty years making passageways such as this, my home. Trust me. I know the turns of tunnels, can read the breath of air on my face as clear as a map." Was it the fading light, or could he read a flash of emotion in his former wife's eyes? Perhaps.

"Before we go any further though," he suddenly announced, "I have a condition of my own. A boon, to be granted on your return to Atlantis."

That brought the queen up short. For just a moment, her mouth hung open before she found her voice. "A condition?" she asked, incredulously. "Your son's life hangs in the balance and you wish to barter for favours?" Of all the ways he could have surprised her, this was the very last thing she would have imagined. From her own lips, maybe, but not her _noble_ Aeson – the doting father.

"Then we should not waste time in our negotiations," Aeson replied, evenly.

"What would you imagine I could possibly grant you?"

"For Jason's life? Have you thought what you're prepared to sacrifice?" He gave a bitter laugh. "Don't worry," he assured her, darkly. "Whatever boon I ask of you will not affect that which you truly care about. The throne," he supplied after a moment's pause. "Your almighty power. I have no designs to reignite the wars of past times or to throw myself back into a world of struggle and betrayal. I leave you to pave the way for your own demise."

He watched her spine straighten and her shoulders square. "No, my request will be a simple one, within your power to grant and it will not affect that which you hold most dear. Do we have an agreement?"

Pasiphae released a sharp breath which came out more as a hiss. "If your petty privileges mean so much to you, then so be it. I will grant your boon on my return. Now let us move on."

"Swear it!" he demanded, sharply. "By Poseidon."

She paused a moment, taken aback by his fire. "As you wish – I swear on Poseidon's name. Now are we done? Jason's time runs short, if it pleases you to care."

Still unsettled by the strangeness of his behaviour, the queen pushed aside her feelings, as apparently, did Aeson. They knew they must concentrate on the task at hand. She stepped through the opening, glad when the glow from the torch revealed a more hospitable path than she had built in her mind's eye. She did not know for how long they travelled, turning one way then the other but, though she was reluctant to admit it, Aeson's confidence amazed her. He paused at forked paths for only a fraction of a moment before decisively choosing a direction. Never once did he backtrack or appear to question himself and the queen only hoped this was borne from instinct and ability and not from pride or stubbornness.

But suddenly, they rounded a corner and stopped short. A wide chamber stood before them, a small mountain of rock and debris scattered across the mossy floor from the middle of the space and stretching over to the blocked entrance. For a second, Pasiphae's breath caught in her throat but it was not long before she found herself pushing past Aeson and into the room. "Careful," he warned, reaching out to place a restraining hand on her arm. "We don't know how stable the roof of this cave is. The tremors may have loosened something that is yet to fall."

"Take your hand off me!" she hissed. He complied immediately but further cautioned.

"Try not to disturb the surroundings – we don't want to cause any more shifts in the rock." Pasiphae afforded him a brief, irritated nod but her attention was elsewhere.

"Can you see him?" she asked, tension mounting in her voice. "Move the torch closer – here!" She pointed to a mound of rocks on the floor, the shape of their shadows drawing her attention. Aeson did as she instructed, hovering the flame lower over the fallen slabs of stone. She was right: something lighter seemed to be coming through beneath the darkness of the fallen rocks. Quickly, willing his hand not to tremble, he moved the light along length of it.

Pasiphae gasped and that's when he saw it. The bloodied figure – legs, arms, back; broken, pinned, unmoving. "Jason," he whispered.

* * *

That's it for now. Chapter 3 on the way soon. Thanks for reading this far.


	3. Chapter 3

The Start of Something – Chapter 3

Standard Disclaimer still applies – the characters and everything else is owned by the BBC. Thank-you to everyone who's reviewed chapter 2 and is still following the story. I hope you enjoy chapter 3

* * *

Immediately, he handed the torch to Pasiphae and moved to where the young man's upper body lay, half-twisted onto its side. It was evident that when the portion of ceiling collapsed, it had caught him unawares. He was lying almost face-down, sprawled painfully across the cold, mossy floor. Large slabs of shattered stone lay over-lapping one another and obscuring the lower portion of Jason's body. The boy did not move and Aeson immediately pushed aside the dark whisperings of helplessness: the notion that they had arrived too late.

Ignoring the boy's legs for now, he instead moved to kneel by his head.

"Is he dead?" He heard Pasiphae's strangled whisper and realised that he had almost forgotten she was there. She came closer to him, bringing with her the necessary light with which to inspect his son's wounds more closely. The curly dark hair was matted with dried blood and a wound on his scalp still oozed very slowly. That was good, Aeson thought: the blood was still flowing so his son must still live. That brought his thoughts back to Pasiphae's question.

"I don't believe so," he answered though could not keep the hesitancy out of his voice. "Jason!" he called. "Jason, can you hear me? Jason?" He gently slapped his hand against the young man's cheek, willing him to respond. When he continued to lie, unmoving, Aeson leant down close to his ear and waited a moment, eyes seemingly searching for something in the distance. "I can feel breathing," he announced with relief as he sat back up. Pasiphae released her own, controlled breath. "It's weak," he continued. "If we don't tend to him soon, I'm not sure how long it will last." He tapped his cheek again, harder this time and shook him by the shoulders. Eventually he was rewarded with a very faint groan from the back of his throat. His head lulled to one side but he made no signs of waking. "He's responding," Aeson said, "but barely."

Both cast their appraising gazes along his buried lower half. They wore twin expressions of grimness. What if the stones were more than they could shift between them? And what chance did Jason have, after being buried underneath such weight for so long? Pasiphae imagined her son, her strong and agile son, crippled and helpless – weak and vulnerable; his beauty, his grace, reduced to a shrivelled mass. She saw him leap and somersault over the bulls in the arena and heard the crowd cheer; saw him twist and turn and all but fly over his opponents in the pankration. Even Minos had seemed impressed at his skill that day. The thought of him broken into pieces, unable to fly, suddenly made her wonder if it would not be better after all, if this claimed his life.

But Aeson was at once testing the weight of the stones, easing his fingers underneath the slabs to try and assess the possible damage and further ramifications if they should attempt to move them and when Pasiphae saw his earnest, desperate actions it occurred to her that Aeson had not considered the same. For the first time in many years, she felt herself burn with shame.

A low chuckle from Aeson suddenly brought her up short. "Thank the gods!" the man was murmuring.

"Aeson?"

He looked up at her and smiled, relief washing over his face. "His legs are not crushed, I can see from here." Aeson pointed to the largest slab. "The largest of these rocks has fallen upon smaller debris by his legs – it has supported its weight, stopping the slab from crushing Jason. There's no room for him to move but if we can remove the rocks, he still has a chance."

And so they set about the task at hand and, though Aeson performed most of the heavy lifting and dragging it was between them that the largest rock and afterwards, the smaller debris, was carefully eased off their son. When they were finished, both stood back to appraise the young man before them. His clothing was torn and blood had soaked through in intermittent patches along his back and legs. His leather breast plate bore deep rents across his back and lay, half hanging from one shoulder.

It was this that gave them the most cause for concern. "You say he was attacked by an animal?" Aeson wondered. He ran his fingers along the deep marks. "Help me cut away his breast plate." Pasiphae withdrew her small dagger from her leather bag and deftly cut the straps at his shoulders and along his waist. Ever so carefully, she eased the armour off him as Aeson gently lifted his son to make the task easier.

When it was done, they drew in sharp breaths. Blood soaked his back, across his shoulder blades where sharp claws had rendered the flesh into meaty strips. Though the skin had made an attempt to close itself, it had not succeeded and angry, red skin enflamed the site of lacerations. Grit, dirt and dampness had been ground and seeped inside his body and Pasiphae tried hard not to recoil at the smell of the white puss which emanated from around the wound.

Carefully, Aeson rolled Jason so that he could see his stomach. If he had suffered a similar wound to the abdomen, it would kill him for sure. Mercifully, though bruised and scraped, his chest and stomach appeared unharmed. Along his sides were more deep claw marks, similar to the ones across his upper back. Pasiphae winced to see them and was glad the boy was unable to feel them. What must he have felt, she found herself wondering, trapped, alone, bleeding and in such pain? It was a mercy from the gods that he did not wake now.

"He needs water," Aeson suddenly announced.

Pasiphae nodded. "I will clean his wounds – as you declared earlier, I shall leave you to make the poultice." But he shook his head, already moving to take Jason's head in his hands and gently lift the boy's head and shoulders onto his lap.

"No, to drink. His wounds have waited this long – they can wait a little longer. His thirst cannot." Jason's face was pale, his lips dry and cracked. "I need the water from your bag," Aeson instructed, already holding out his hand for it, expectantly. Still unsure of whether to trust this man, Pasiphae did as he asked and when he had the flask in his hands, he prised off the stopper and put it to his son's cracked lips, tipping it with precise movements.

"Careful," he heard the queen whisper. "Not too much – we don't even know if he can swallow. Are you sure this is safe? You cannot drink when you're sleeping – you could choke the boy!"

Aeson looked determined and she only hoped that wasn't a bluff. "He's responsive enough," he said, firmly. "If he starts to gag, I can remove it before damage is done."

Thankfully though, as they watched, holding their breath, they saw his throat begin to work, reflexively, allowing the cooling water to trickle down it. Slowly, Aeson tried a little more and a little more until finally, Jason began to cough and splutter and Aeson removed the flask and re-stopped it, turning him on to his side and gently thumping his back, mindful of his injuries.

"Five days," Pasiphae wondered aloud as Aeson placed the flask on the ground and set about turning his son onto his stomach, laying his head carefully to one side.

"What was that?"

"Five days. How could he have survived in here, unable to move, unable to drink for so long? Any man should surely be dead by now."

"He's not saved yet," Aeson pointed out, darkly. Then he paused a moment. "And in any event, he is touched by the gods. He's special. If anyone could survive this, it would be him."

Absently, Pasiphae nodded although her attention was drawn elsewhere. From one of the saddle bags she removed another flagon of water and found a crack between two rocks in which to firmly wedge the torch. Then she returned to Jason's side. It was with hesitant, awkward movements that she used her knife to cut away the shredded remnants of his tunic and lay the material to one side. She then produced a strip of cloth from her own bag, soaked it in water and started to wipe away the dirt and stones from animal's attack.

"Be sure to get it all," Aeson reminded her as he ground the lavender and other herbs and roots into a smooth paste using one of the flat stones lying on the ground. "Infection has set in and the poultice will do no good if the wound isn't clean of it. Are there enough strips of cloth in your bag to bind his injuries once they're treated?"

"I know how to clean a wound," she muttered to herself. Then, to his question she replied: "If there is not, then we have other means to procure them. Keep your mind on each obstacle as it arises."

Aeson shook his head slightly and went back to his task. The night was wearing on and he was no-where near as young as he used to be. Even in his prime, arguing with his wife could sap the energy from him and although she had probably _caused_ more wounds than she had cleaned, he had to admit that she was doing a good job. "It must have attacked him from behind," he remarked quietly, looking at the tears on his son's sides and back. "Jumped on him, by the looks of it. The claws have gone under his armour and around his sides. It's another miracle that it left him when it did. Or maybe he shook it off. He's strong."

Pasiphae made no comment on her former husband's observations, choosing to pretend he was not there. It felt a little childish, but also satisfying, Instead, she made one last swipe at the wounds on his back before she was satisfied they were as clean as they would be. The makeshift cloth was not fit to be used again so she wrung it out and took a clean cloth from her bag. Then she turned her attention to his side and repeated her ministrations. Though the strength of his body was obvious to all she couldn't help but ache for him. He looked so young, she thought to herself – _so young,_ just lying there as though he were peacefully sleeping.

"It's ready," Aeson suddenly announced. "How are his wounds?" As he spoke, Pasiphae nodded to herself as though satisfied with her own appraisal and pushed away from the prone figure.

"All is prepared. If you bind his wounds with precision, the strips of cloth we have should suffice." Aeson slid in to take her place, the poultice ready on its stone. Scooping it up into his fingers he lathered it over the cleaned lacerations on Jason's back. Immediately, from somewhere in his slumber, Jason recoiled away from him and moaned, painfully.

Aeson paused, a smile on his face as he gave a shaky laugh. "I never thought I'd be glad to hear my son in pain, much less be the cause of it, but as it's the first real sign of consciousness we've seen, I'll take it as a blessing rather than a curse."

It did, indeed, have the immediate effect of lifting some of the oppressing tension in the room as he continued to apply the healing poultice and the finally dress his injuries.

When all was done, he sat back on his haunches and allowed himself a small moment of ease. He brushed a hand across his son's forehead and traced one finger along the curve of his cheek. "He's warm," Aeson remarked.

"A fever?"

"It's likely. Let's get him covered. This place will be freezing at night and he's not been able to move to keep warm." He looked to Pasiphae. "Have you brought a blanket?" But instead of answering him, she simply stared at her son.

"He isn't shivering," she whispered, her voice sounding oddly vulnerable and soft.

"No and that isn't a good sign. We must get him warm." He watched in mild confusion as, rather than delving once more into the saddle bags or into her own shoulder bag, she instead unclasped her grey cloak from around her throat and wordlessly handed it to him.

"We have no time to be picky," she announced, curtly, seeing the question in his eyes. "There is nothing else." And then she moved to put her back to the wall, some distance from them and slid gracefully to the floor, drawing her knees up to her chest.

She watched as Aeson tucked the cloak around their son's shoulders and then soaked a cloth in water and proceeded to apply it to the boy's forehead. Leaving it there, he took another, soaked it and then moved about his son's body, cleansing the smaller wounds as best he could and finally applying some pressure to the oozing cut on his scalp. It wasn't too long before it appeared to dry up.

"We can't do much else for him now," Aeson said, quietly. "At first light, we'll take him down the mountain, as soon as the path is safe." Pasiphae nodded though she didn't like to imagine _how_ they were going to get him down. It had been hard enough for the both of them to make the ascent when they were conscious and able-bodied and she had heard it said many times that it was the climb _down_ when most accidents occurred.

"It seems strange," Aeson continued, "that he would venture out with no water of his own."

From the shadows, Pasiphae quietly scoffed. "He is brave and agile but not blessed with an abundance of common sense." Then she thought for a moment. "Though I would have wagered even _he_ could see the sense of bringing _water_." Suddenly, something she had not noticed before, lying a few feet away from Jason's head, caught her eye.

"What is that?" she wondered, pointing to the small object.

Aeson frowned and followed the line of her finger. He shuffled closer to get a better look. When he saw it, he smiled. "That is one mystery solved," he announced, wryly. "Our son is not so misguided, it seems." He watched Pasiphae's question in her eyes, secretly enjoying his moment of power. "It's his water skein." He held out one arm, experimentally. The edge of the flask just brushed his fingers. He estimated that Jason's arms were marginally shorter than his own. "He couldn't reach it where it fell," he announced. He picked it up and shook it. Empty. Curiously, he saw the top had been prised off or had fallen off – one of the two.

Then his eyes, so used to seeing in darkened conditions, honed in on still smaller details and as he looked, his smile grew wider. "It seems he _did_ have water after all. At least, a little."

"How? He's nowhere near it. He cannot _drink_ from there."

Aeson hunched down and traced a small path with his finger, running through the gravelled dirt from the neck of the bottle, to the small, flat rocks by Jason's head. "He dug a channel with his finger," Aeson explained. "The stones here are not porous and though water escaped between them, he was still able to direct most of it towards him. He's fortunate the ground has a downward slope to it." He examined the ground more closely. "Yes, it pooled here and for awhile, he must have been able to drink from it. It wouldn't have lasted long but it afforded him _something_ at least."

"Something," the queen repeated, bitterly. She closed her eyes as she leaned back against the cave wall, suddenly overcome with fatigue. How much longer did the night have? Without being able to see the moon and the stars, it seemed a lifetime. Jason still slept – _slept_, she told herself: that was all. But if he woke? She was too tired to even _think_ what she would do. "How is he?"

Aeson moved back to their son. "He seems to be resting as peacefully as possible. His colour seems improved, I think." She nodded, neither pointing out that with what little light they had, judging a person's colour was not an easy task. "Should we save the torch?" he wondered.

"No, we have one more and it will help to raise the temperature." She paused. "Besides, he's been in the dark for long enough."

"Are you cold?"

She shot him a dark, scathing look. "And if I _were_?"

Aeson raised one eyebrow and simply shrugged, turning his attention back to Jason. He picked up the tattered chest plate from where it lay beside them. "I don't think this will be saved," he remarked. Sparing a glance to what he held, Pasiphae gave a derisive snort.

"That thing! A _peasant's_ garb. I'm surprised it afforded him any protection at all." Then she suddenly sat up straighter and fixed Aeson with hard, cold eyes. "_Must_ you have raised our son with peasants and farmers and the ignorant? Was there not a family of _noble_ breeding that you might have taken him to?"

With some satisfaction, she watched him tense. "I did not raise him," Aeson answered, his voice low and hard. "It would have been impossible to raise a boy while exiled from my own people. But I did not leave him with _peasants_, either. He had a good life. Looked after by a man – a _good_ man, who…who let him believe he was his uncle. _Family_. Jason was loved and protected. I made sure of it."

"You made sure of nothing – you _abandoned him_!" she hissed, fiercely, her eyes having widened. "It is one thing to steal my son but it is another thing entirely to leave him to the wolves! You have not seen him grow, you do not know of his hardships, of his friends, of his pains. He must have had a life of questions, a life of emptiness!"

Her intensity surprised Aeson. "You _do_ seem to care," he wondered.

"Of _course_ I would." Then her voice became quieter, almost afraid. "And what of me?" she asked. "What did you tell him …of me?" At once, she saw the hard glint in his eyes and already guessed the answer.

"I told him you were dead. Beyond that, nothing."

"Not even my name?" Pasiphae whispered.

"You didn't deserve that much of his life." Then, even Aeson felt a moment of pity for the open anguish on his former wife's face. "Besides, he was only three years old when I left him to return here. There was only so much a child that age would remember and understand."

They were silent for a long time, listening to the breathing of their son, watching his chest rising and falling. The air was stale and the sooner they could move him into the fresh air, the better. But the winds had been picking up around them as they finished their climb and would do him no good to expose him to them.

"Where did you take him?"

The question, coming from so much silence, startled Aeson. He hesitated before answering. "Another country. Far from Greece."

"Not _Persia_?"

"No, don't be foolish! Somewhere where they have never heard of _you_ or _me_ or any of our damned wretched wars! Somewhere he could grow up safe and in peace. If you think it was easy for me to leave him there, then you really never knew me at all." Suddenly he felt Jason begin to stir beneath his warming hand, laying lightly on the boy's chest.

"Jason?" he asked, softly. His young face tensed, perhaps in pain and he mumbled, incoherently, noises of pain and fear and discomfort. They could only imagine what nightmares ran through his mind as threatening memories and dark dreams merged into an inescapable cocoon. Pasiphae tensed and moved deeper into the shadows, suddenly wary. "Shh," Aeson whispered, leaning close to his son's ear. "Easy, Jason. You're safe. Go to sleep. Just sleep. I'm here." He rhythmically smoothed the tangled hair across his head until he quieted once more and his tensed shoulders relaxed.

"He's shivering," Aeson said. "That's good. His body is becoming more alert. I think he'll be alright as long as we move him as soon as it's light." He looked over to where she sat, further back now along the wall. "He's not waking," he assured her. Then he paused and sighed, wearily. "You should try and get some sleep. There's no sense both of us being exhausted in the morning. I'll sit with him."

It seemed however that Pasiphae would not be so easily dismissed. "I prefer to remain awake. I have…details yet to work out on my return." Aeson raised an eyebrow.

"What does Minos know of your absence?"

She hesitated but eventually could see no harm in conversing further on the subject. "That I have gone to visit mutual friends in a neighbouring city to discuss the possibility of a combined athletic contest."

Aeson appeared amused. "Very specific."

Pasiphae allowed herself a small smile. "Details are important. And not entirely useless. A contest of athletic prowess is just what Atlantis needs to put recent, unfortunate events out of their minds." She turned her eye on the sleeping boy. "He would excel at it, I am sure." Another slight movement made her tense, once more. If he saw her, questioned her, what on earth would she tell him? Again, Aeson noticed her discomfort and smiled.

"He's a heavy sleeper," he assured her though despite his assertions he made careful measure to keep his voice low and quiet. He smiled, fondly, suddenly lost in a memory. The queen noticed and her eyes narrowed. "I remember," he said, speaking partly to himself, partly to her and possibly even to his inert son. "I remember when he was a baby, or little more than a babe, maybe two years old how he could not fall asleep without music. I would keep the radio on all night to soothe him and rock him against my chest but as long as the music played, he was out like a light."

"Radio?"

For a moment, Aeson looked puzzled himself. But then he remembered. "Never mind," he muttered. "It was just something from…his home."

"I see." Her voice seemed to lower the cave's temperature even further. It was not unnoticed by Aeson. He had the good grace to shift a little uncomfortably, suddenly not wanting to see her expression. He did not regret his actions and the gods knew that this woman deserved some misery of her own. But even so, it couldn't be easy for a mother to hear about the life of a son she thought had died nearly two years earlier.

He absently smoothed some hair from Jason's forehead with rough, calloused hands. The young man didn't even stir beneath his touch though he had been secretly hoping he would. He was startled from his thoughts when he felt Pasiphae moving off to the side of him. It unnerved him a little as he hadn't noticed the woman move. He should have remembered how silently she manoeuvred. Watching, he saw her gently kneel and remove the dried out water skein.

"There's no point in leaving this here any more," she muttered, quietly. "It's just making a mess." She glanced over to Jason, now closer to her than she had allowed for some time. As if coming to a decision she suddenly moved to kneel on the opposite side to her son and stuffed the vessel into her leather bag. When she looked up, Aeson was almost smiling at her. Not the twisted, biting smile but something closer to a genuine expression of warmth. She felt herself recoil at it but she was loathed to start another argument across her sleeping son.

Aeson nodded towards the water flask, now tucked away securely in her bag. "He was always very resourceful," he said. "Getting his way, the little scamp and later, with his friends, here." Beneath him, Jason shivered and he immediately wrapped the cloak more securely around his shoulders.

"I do not need you to tell me of our son's talents," Pasiphae whispered, bitterness clearly edging her words. "I would wager I have witnessed more of his skill, bravery and ingenuity in the _months_ that I have known him than in the few short _hours_ he spent with you in these caves."

"Was that in those moments when he was avoiding your ploys to kill him?"

For once, Aeson had not hurled the accusation at her, nor raised his voice. It was an honest question, tinged with regret. And for once, Pasiphae had no response to it; no rebuttal, no justification, no counter-attack. _I didn't know_, sounded hollow and bitter on her tongue. So she just left it there.

Instead, her fingers inched their way across the stone ground to the boy's hand. And there they gently ran over his scraped knuckles – a feather-light touch from smooth, un-calloused hands. And when Jason responded by turning his head towards her, eyes still firmly shut and let out a contented sigh, she froze and quickly withdrew her hand. Across from her, Aeson looked on, in growing surprise, the first hints of jealousy snaking their way into his heart.

"What is it, exactly, Pasiphae that you want from him?" She looked up in surprise.

"Nothing. We have already discussed this. Jason must know nothing of his parentage." Her voice became bitter once more. "We agreed it was for the best." He was still again so she took the opportunity to replace her hand on his, smiling a little at the exchange of warmth that passed between them.

But Aeson did not appear convinced. "Nothing?" he repeated. "You'll forgive me if I find that hard to believe. You mean to tell me that Jason isn't just another part of your plans? Of your scheming?"

"And what schemes might these be?" she demanded, hotly. "Tell me, as you seem to know me so well and as I could not simply wish to see my son saved."

"To somehow make him acceptable to Minos. To put him on the throne as a puppet king. To _use_ him as you use everyone around you – to gain power and then throw him away when you're done."

If he didn't know better, Aeson could almost have taken her wounded look seriously. "You believe I am capable of doing that to my _own child_?" she demanded.

"Need you really ask that? Would I go to such lengths as to take our son if I believed otherwise?" He sighed. "How can I ever trust a wife who steals her husband's throne?"

"And I, a husband who secrets away their child? In the greater scheme of the gods, I would say we are made quits." It was an argument neither could win. She watched him simmer, silently, opposite the subject of their division. "For the love of the gods let us end this pointless arguing. The past is done and you have my assurances that he will not learn the truth from me." She spared a glance down at his sleeping form and then abruptly rose to her feet. "Dawn cannot be far off. I'm going to check the sky. Stay here and watch him."

"You don't know the way…"

"Do you think me foolish enough to follow you blindly and leave myself trapped, should you desert me?" She drew herself up to her full height and suddenly, even without her gown and finery, the queen of Atlantis remerged from the ashes. Whatever truth may have passed between them that night would be left buried in that cave in place of their son.

She withdraw a small piece of chalk from the pouch on her belt. "You marked the route," Aeson said, with a low chuckle. "Of course you did. Go, we shall wait for your return." Pasiphae then withdrew the second torch from one of the saddle bags and, as quickly as Aeson had, struck a light to set it flaming.

He watched her leave then cast a quick look back at Jason, glad to see him still sleeping. After taking a moment to adjust his makeshift blanket, Aeson gathered up the scattered items from their bags and stowed them safely away. Then he slowly eased himself down, leant against the wall and stretched out his legs so that one foot could just touch the edge of his son's leg. The boy was quiet and still and so, for the first time that night, Aeson risked closing his own eyes.

But in so doing, he never saw that the fluttering brown eyes of his son, had, some moments earlier groggily cracked open and taken in his surroundings. Caught between waking and sleeping and the sluggish movements of his body, strange figures and conversations ghosted past Jason as though he were under water: the half-whispers of a conversation that he could not understand as it washed over him in rolling waves.

In the incoherence of his dreamlike state, Jason tried to hold on to his sudden feelings of warmth and safety when he had been so sure that he would die alone and afraid. He tried to decide what was real and what was not and above all, he desperately tried to hold on to the people who were speaking around him; their words and promises and a revelation that he felt very, very sure he must not forget. He attempted to speak, to produce enough saliva in his mouth to form words, to will his heavy tongue to move. But he could not. And despite his endeavours, Jason slipped back into sleep and did not wake again.

* * *

Aeson was not surprised that it was some hours before Pasiphae returned, along with the first rays of morning light. Though oddly, he had not doubted that her return _would_ come. When she remerged into the chamber she looked as cool as he remembered seeing her – time alone had apparently done her wonders.

"We should move," was her greeting. "If we're lucky and ride fast, Jason and I can make it back to the borders of Atlantis before the worst of the sun."

"Good morning," Aeson remarked, rising and stretching out the kinks in his back. He felt a hundred years older in just the space of a day even though he had relished the time alone with his son. Unconscious or not, it was still something to be able to bask in his presence. Pasiphae merely rolled her eyes at him, picked up the saddle bags and arranged them so that she could carry the torch as well. The old was spent and she left it wedged in the rock.

"How is he?"

"He's taken a little more water in the night, which is good but his humours are still unbalanced."

She nodded. "Then we should leave now." Aeson knelt down on one side of his son and, mindful of his injuries, leaned in closer to the boy, took his outside arm and secured it over his shoulder. Then, very carefully, Aeson eased his other arm under the young man's back and scooped the boy towards him, hefting them both up standing with a barely restrained groan. Jason went, unyielding and Aeson took a moment to shift the balance over his shoulder, keeping hold of his son's arm and around the backs of his knees, to secure him.

"Can you manage?" Pasiphae asked, briskly. It was clear from her tone that if he could not, she would not be offering to share the burden. But it didn't matter. Once standing, his son was alarmingly light. He gave an affirming grunt before they retraced their path through the mountain until all three, once again stood outside in the blossoming dawn. The fresh air was sweet and welcoming and the scent of honeysuckle carried on the breeze.

There was no need for the torch now that they were outside, so Pasiphae extinguished it and left it by the side of the crevice. She went first, seeking out the secure path for them both as much of Aeson's concentration was taken with balancing his burden. As they journeyed downwards, Aeson spoke:

"Pasiphae, now that Jason is found, I will tell you my request." In front of him, he watched her shoulders tense but she did not pause or turn around.

"As you wish."

"I wish you to remove the leprosy you cursed me with nearly twenty years ago." He almost had to screech to a halt to avoid bumping in to her, so quick was her about-turn as she spun to face him, anger and suspicion warring for supremacy across her face.

"_I knew it_!" she spat. "Do you think I am a fool? Do you think I do not know the first thing you would do if you could walk amongst the people unhindered?" Her eyes were blazing. His question, she thought, bitterly, was well-timed: had he not been carrying her son, she would have pushed him over the mountain's edge. Aeson seemed content to watch her raving though his calmness did little to enhance her own.

"I warn you, Aeson, with all the sincerity I can that if you truly wish to protect him," and here she nodded to the young man, still securely nestled over his shoulder, "then you will stay well away from Atlantis. If Minos were to suspect for even a moment that you intended to try and retake the throne then Jason would _not_ be spared. He would become an immediate threat. Even_ I_ could not protect him in that instance."

"Pasiphae," he spoke in even, almost gentle tones. "Calm yourself. I have not gone back on my word or tried to trick you. I know the dangers to Jason all too well and I would never do that to him." He watched her face as the anger began to fade. But not her suspicions – she still watched him like a hawk, daring him to prove otherwise. "I meant what I said last night. I do not wish to return to the throne and I will not leave my people here. They are good and loyal and true friends. But I would like to look into the water's reflection and see again the man I was. I wish to look into my son's face as he grows and see myself in him. I want _him_ to see himself in me, to see his children's features in mine."

Her face had finally softened, though her eyes remained hard and cold. "Neither of us will watch him grow _or_ hold our grandchildren," she muttered. "But I will do as you ask." She paused a moment longer, eyes downcast. "Let's keep moving," she announced, indicating the matter should not and would not be raised again. Apparently satisfied of the same, Aeson followed without further interruption.

When they once more came to the edge of the trees, Aeson waited a moment while Pasiphae fetched out her horse. He then, ever so carefully, draped Jason across the beast's neck and used a length of rope to gently secure his hands and feet together to help prevent him from falling. They had wrapped him in the grey cloak for warmth, his own shredded tunic having been left with his ruined breast plate in the caves. It was not ideal but it would suffice for the journey back to Atlantis. At a good speed and with a horse as fine as this one, the distance could be covered before the midday sun hung in the sky.

As Aeson saw to their son, Pasiphae reattached the bags and, planting one foot in the stirrup, swung herself into the saddle. She had to shift her position ever so slightly to accommodate Jason but she soon had the boy firmly resting against her. Unconsciously, she had placed one hand on his back and moved her thumb around it in small, soothing circles.

Aeson moved around to the other side of the horse, taking the reins in his hands and looking into his son's lax face, one last time. "He survived the night but his care is far from over," he advised Pasiphae, alternating his gaze from his son to his former wife. "He will need days of rest once he is back in Atlantis and plenty of water. He needs food, too. He's lost far too much weight to be healthy." Pasiphae frowned a little. Jason and his friends often had to be creative with where their next meal would be coming from. Was there enough to nurse a young man through his convalescence?

Carefully, trying not to jostle the boy, Aeson led the horse across the plain and back towards the road that would lead back to Atlantis and Pasiphae was content to allow him to do this. As they walked, he continued to talk. "They will need to change his dressings as well and re-cleanse his wounds. It's a simple poultice but it will need to be reapplied if they are to fight infection." He paused to run a hand through his son's unruly hair, a smile playing at his lips. "Then he just needs rest. Rest, food and water. He must not over-exert himself – his body will be very weak. And plain food only, for the first few days. Nothing too rich or heavy."

"And just how do you expect me to _convey_ these instructions?" Pasiphae demanded, incredulously. "Am I to write a sign and hang it round his neck?"

Aeson suddenly stopped leading them and looked up at her, eyes wide with disbelief. "You intend to just _dump him_ by the side of a road!" He let out a bitter laugh. "For a moment last night, I almost suspected that you had _changed_."

Pasiphae sighed, dismissively and rolled her eyes, a gesture designed to make him feel ignorant. "Can we be a little less dramatic, please? You are not a play-write." She watched as he shook his head, slowly. "If our part in this adventure is to remain anonymous then how do you expect me to hand him over to _anyone_ without arousing suspicion?" He didn't respond but that usually meant she was right or at the very least, that she had a point that he may not agree with but could not dispute.

"I will see to it that he is safe and that he is found quickly and efficiently. His friends will take him home and take good care of him. The clever one will know what to do."

Aeson nodded, remembering the men who accompanied his son that night. "Pythagoras," he supplied.

Pasiphae quietly tutted, in mild irritation: "They don't need names. Don't worry about him – he will be fine." Aeson passed the reins over the horse's head and handed them to her.

"What about you?" he asked. "What will you do?" Pasiphae kicked her heels in and they continued their walk to the dusty path.

"Once I have situated Jason I shall continue on my original course." She smiled, suddenly and her eyes sparkled. "After all, there is a contest to arrange and I must not disappoint Minos."

"So the clothes I saw in your saddle bag…"

She nodded. "I am certain I shall find somewhere suitable to change along the way."

"Minos sent you without an escort?" Aeson wondered but Pasiphae merely arched one eyebrow in response.

"I need not tell you everything," she answered. They had reached the path's beginning and she pulled to a halt. Aeson ran a hand over his son's face and smiled.

"Take care of him," he instructed, "and ride fast." And she afforded him a curt, but honest nod before spurring her horse on along the path home.

* * *

OK – one more chapter to go! I really hope anyone reading this is still enjoying the story and thank you to those who have stuck with it from the get-go

I apologise for any medical glaring errors. I'm in no way medically trained and though I did try to look up the more obvious things, I'm sure there are things I've missed.


	4. Chapter 4

The Start of Something – Chapter 4

Standard Disclaimer applies in that I still don't own them and the BBC still do.

The gang's all here again! Well – this is the end. I really hope people have enjoyed the story so far and that the last part doesn't disappoint. Thanks for reading and thank you to _Yassandra_ for your comments

* * *

Pythagoras could hardly believe his ears when he heard Hercules' loud, insistent shouting from the street below their house, urging him to get his head out of those blasted triangles and come quickly.

But he had done just that and as his heels almost screeched to a comical halt in front of his burly friend, Hercules was just beaming. "He found him!" he exclaimed, clapping him so hard on the back that he stumbled forwards a step. The man was bounding with excitement, so much so that for a second, Pythagoras could not wrap his head around his words.

"Who?" he asked, dumbly.

"Jason! Mylos _did it_! He just sent me word at the tavern." And with that, he spurted off down the road, with far more speed than Pythagoras would have credited him with, calling back over his shoulder. "He's by the road by the east gate of the city. _Come on_!"

Pythagoras started to trot forwards a few steps, automatically, his agile mind starting to catch up to his feet. "_Mylos_? Seriously? He did it?"

"Come _on_, Pythagoras. Pick your feet up!" And as Hercules rounded the corner and disappeared, a wide smile replaced his confusion and he immediately sped up to join his friend and finally bring Jason home.

* * *

Sun was streaming through the window when Jason finally opened his eyes. It took him some time to get his bearings. He was lying on a bed – not _soft_ as he was used to the word while growing up – but _comfortable_ and more or less sturdy. He was warm, though his body felt…strange. As though it were still getting used to its skin. A dull ache spread along the base of his head and down his neck and something cold and wet suddenly drew his attention. He reached out a hand from beneath the blanket and felt underneath his neck. His hand emerged grasping a folded damp cloth and he afforded it a puzzled look as his mind sought to remember when it had been placed there. And for that matter, when _he_ had been placed in the bed, or carried home, or…

He sat up with a start and immediately cried out in pain as the skin and muscles across his back and sides screamed in protest. At the sound of his voice, he could hear footsteps come running towards his room. A few seconds later, Pythagoras burst in, followed so closely by Hercules that the second man barrelled into the back of his friend, sending the younger man staggering into the room. Despite his confusion, Jason's lip curled up in a crooked smile.

After shooting Hercules a pointed look, Pythagoras straightened and turned to Jason, smiling gently. "Good morning," he said, quietly. "How are you feeling? You should really lie back down," he advised. "Gently." Though he didn't know why, Jason couldn't help but agree with him and gladly did as he was instructed.

"You're looking better," Hercules interjected before Jason could respond, coming round to seat himself next to Jason with a heavy thump. "Not perky, mind you. And you still look pale. Gaunt really. And I'm not sure if there was _always_ something wrong with your left eye but now that I'm looking at it closely…"

"_Hercules_!" He stopped and shrugged at his friend's exasperated expression.

"What? It's a valid question. It shows I have a passing interest in his health." Nonetheless, he allowed Jason to speak. It took a second for Jason's brain to sort through the barrage of Hercules' greeting and then to let Pythagoras' question filter through.

"Um…fine, I think." Then he paused and seemed to _really_ think about it. "My back hurts," he said quietly. "And my throat hurts. And my head's kind of fuzzy." He trailed off, a look of pained confusion crossing his face. "In fact, _everything_ hurts! And I seem to feel…damp – _don't say anything_!" he insisted forcefully, pointing an accusatory finger at Hercules.

The large man raised his hands in surrender. "I wasn't going to say anything!" he protested.

"Your fever broke last night," Pythagoras explained, patiently. He came to stand by Jason's bed and placed an assessing hand on his forehead. "We'd been using damp cloths to cool you down and you could probably use a bath, when you're feeling up to moving about and leaving the house."

"Fever?"

"I think it was brought on by the infection."

"Infection?" Dimly he imagined he could still feel the burning on his skin, prickly and irritated.

"From your injuries."

Off Jason's helpless look, Hercules exclaimed: "Honestly Jason, you're going to have to try and be a little more helpful."

"I'm sorry. I'm _trying_."

He looked so miserable and lost that even Hercules begrudgingly relented a little. "It's alright. I suppose it will come to you."

Tentatively, Jason reached back a hand again and felt the strips of cloth binding his back. He ran his fingers over them and winced when they pushed too hard against the lacerations.

"It looks like you were attacked by some kind of animal. Do you remember that? Leave the wound alone, Jason. It's healing well but you mustn't prod it." Jason obligingly stopped and instead, turned his thoughts to his last memories.

A foggy haze encased his brain and he fought to sift through the images floating in it. "Vaguely. Some kind of big…_cat_."

"A big cat?" Hercules deadpanned. "Was it hunting very ferocious mice?"

"_You know_!" the young man replied, annoyed at having to tax his befuddled brain for the appropriate name. _Thinking_ hurt and right now, he didn't like doing it. "Like a mountain lion. I didn't get a great look at it because it jumped me from behind. I just remember a lot of pain and yowling…"

"From you or the cat?"

"_Hercules_," Pythagoras hissed.

"Sorry – just trying to clear things up." He turned back to Jason. "Do continue." Jason shot him a sour look. He never fared well, being teased when he felt sick. But it still felt so good to see his friends again that he couldn't stay mad for long.

"How long have I been here?" he wondered, seemingly forgetting the request to continue.

"We found you on the road by the east gate two days ago." Pythagoras paused, a question burning in his eyes. "You were gone nearly a _week_, Jason. We were all _so worried_ about you – even Ariadne."

"_Ariadne_?"

"Oh," Hercules exclaimed, throwing a hand in the air. "So _now_ he's suddenly interested." He tapped the young man sharply on the arm. "Don't go losing focus now!" he commanded. Then he levelled a very stern glare at him. It actually made Jason shuffle back a couple of inches on the bed. "You had him worried half to death," he accused. "Now where did you get to?" And suddenly, he was stumbling home three hours past his curfew and having to face his uncle Mac.

Jason glanced down at the blankets, his expression young and guilty. It suddenly made Hercules feel as old as he claimed he wasn't. "I was hunting," he admitted in a small voice. "Near the mountains."

Pythagoras thought for a moment, trying to picture the local terrain. "Which mountains?"

"Well I kind of…wound around a bit. I didn't exactly keep track of where I was going but I ended up by the mountains of Galena."

"_Galena_?" He winced at the volume of Hercules' question and immediately put his hand to his aching head, with a quiet hiss. On seeing this and on seeing Pythagoras' entreating look, the older man made a conscious effort to continue in softer tones. "That's nearly a _day's_ journey – _if_ you don't stop when it's dark! What were you _thinking_? Going there alone? Without telling anyone where you were off to?"

"Well to be fair," Jason protested in his defence, "even _I_ didn't know where I was off to. My feet just kind of…took me there."

"Oh well that's alright then," Hercules huffed. "Just as long as you had a _plan_ and _provisions_ and a _clue what you were doing_. By all means, don't let _me_ or a smidgen of common sense get in your way." Jason looked down at his hands and shifted a little guiltily on the bed.

"I'm sorry I worried you both. Really. I didn't mean to." He glanced up at his friends, hoping to see their expressions forgiving. Well, Hercules looked a little exasperated but he could see the fondness in his eyes and Pythagoras came to perch gently on the other side of his bed, his expression kind. Jason chose to focus his attention on _him_.

"It's alright," the young genius assured him, despite the snort from Hercules. "But why didn't you come back sooner?" Jason sighed, heavily. That part of his ordeal was slowly but surely coming back to him.

"I managed to shake the lion off. I though it was going to attack again but suddenly it just…took off."

"Took off?"

He shrugged though immediately regretted it as he felt the pain lance between his shoulder-blades. "Ran away. I didn't know why but I wasn't taking any chances that it might come back so I made it up to a cave entrance near by."

"Because goodness knows, mountain lions can't _climb_," Hercules interrupted. Both Jason and Pythagoras shot him a look.

"What happened next?" Pythagoras questioned, patiently.

"An earthquake, I think. Come to think of it, that's probably why it took off. I think I remember reading about animals having some kind of sixth sense about those kind of things. Didn't you feel it here?" Both his friends gave each other a concerned look before shaking their heads.

"No," Pythagoras supplied. Hercules' expression seemed to pale as a look of mild horror overcame him.

"It caved in?" the burly man guessed. Jason nodded, the memory still one that would haunt him as he recalled hearing the almighty crack and then registering the falling stones, the impact and then the suffocating darkness. It was like the whole _world_ was coming down on him. That darkness still made him shiver.

"I was trapped," he said, quietly. "The rocks were pinning my legs and the entrance was blocked. Not that it mattered when I couldn't move." His expression was reflective and for a second, his friends worried that he was becoming lost in painful memories. He was startled then when Pythagoras placed a warm, comforting hand on his shoulder. He looked at the man with gratitude in his eyes.

"I lost track of how long I lay there. Time seems to go on forever when you can't see the sky. I tried calling for help but, obviously, there was no-one around. I tried to shift the stones off my legs but I couldn't. And everything hurt. I could feel the bleeding but I couldn't do anything to stop it. You've no idea how tight and itchy dried blood is. All I could do was lie there. And come to terms with the fact that I was going to die alone." His voice was so soft by the time he had finished, so quiet and pained that for once, even Hercules made no sarcastic reply. In fact, he placed a hand on the young man's knee and gave it a gentle squeeze.

"Well," Pythagoras assured Jason, trying hard to put some much needed levity into his voice. "I'm very glad you're safe now. But it still doesn't explain how you got out of the cave. _Someone_ must have helped you." Jason looked at him, helplessly. "You have no idea who it was?" He watched his friend shrug.

"I don't remember much. After a while I think I must have passed out." He paused as his mind clawed through what scattered memories he had. "Everything's so _unclear_," he admitted, frustration lacing his tone. "Sometimes I think I remember someone there, or voices, but I can't be sure." He balled his hand into a fist by his side. "I remember strange dreams and then moments of blackness and I can't work out what was real and what was just in my head."

Seeing the stress this was causing him, Hercules, who Jason had almost forgotten was sitting on the other side of him, stepped in. "You shouldn't get yourself too excited," he pointed out, placing a gently restraining hand on the boy's chest and pushing him further down into the bed. "Someone obviously got you out and that's the important thing. If you don't remember, it doesn't matter."

"Quite," Pythagoras agreed. "But whoever they were, they did an excellent job. When we found you, your wounds had been cleaned and treated with an expertly mixed poultice. They really knew their medicinal plants. They were wrapped, too and they must have given you water or I doubt you would have survived. Which reminds me." He stood, abruptly and left the room. Jason watched him go, a puzzled look on his face. In a moment, his friend returned with a cup in his hands.

"Help him sit up, please Hercules," he instructed and Hercules did so, sitting just behind Jason to support him. Jason frowned. Firstly from the embarrassment of being helped and then, soon after, from the trembling of his muscles when he tried to push the older man away and sit on his own. Hercules just sighed and gently pulled him back to lean against him.

Pythagoras gave him a sympathetic smile. "Be patient," he advised. "Your body has been through an ordeal and is half-starved. You've taken no food in…what has to be a week now. You'll be weak for a while. In the meantime, you need to keep your fluids balanced." He handed him the cup. "It's water, imbued with some fortifying herbs. Drink it all, but slowly." So, giving it an experimental sip, Jason decided it was alright and began to drink it down, slowly at first but then gulping it when he realised how much it eased his throat.

"Careful!" he heard Hercules scold, before the cup was tugged out of his fingers.

"Hey!" he protested in a strangled squeak. But it did not dissuade the older man.

"You can have more when you've learned how to drink with restraint."

Jason coughed a couple of times. "Look who's talking," he accused, lightly but he made no further protests and instead, concentrated on not visibly wincing when Hercules carefully lowered him back down again. He couldn't quite help the sigh of relief that eased from his lips though when he was resting horizontally once more. He suddenly felt so drained but he was damned if he was going to give in to sleep again so soon.

"It doesn't explain why whoever rescued you, would take you all the way from Galena to Atlantis but not bring you in to someone in the town," Pythagoras mused.

"Maybe he was starting to smell? Those wounds weren't the most pleasantly pungent aromas and he'd been in that cave a _long_ time." Jason frowned and gave himself a inquisitive sniff.

"He smelled? _Really_?"

"It's as good a reason as any. Don't know what happened to your chest-plate though," Hercules remarked. "Or your tunic. You were wrapped in a cloak when we found you. Quite a nice one too. Might fetch a good price the next time we're short a few coins."

Suddenly, Jason's hand shot to his throat, his eyes wide. Pythagoras might almost have suspected he was choking, if it weren't for his pained cry. "My necklace!" he gasped. He started to pat the bed for it and prop himself up on his elbows, trying to look about the floor.

"_Easy_," Hercules, admonished.

"It's not here, I'm afraid," Pythagoras told him, quietly. "You weren't wearing it when we found you and we did have a quick look around the ground where you had been sitting, before we moved you."

"A _quick_ look?" Jason asked. "Could you have missed it?" His eyes were so desperate and his expression so distraught that they both immediately felt guilty for not having gone over the ground more carefully at the time. Though their priority had rightly been to get their friend home and safe. Still, Pythagoras couldn't bear his friend's distress.

"I'm sorry, Jason but I really don't think so. There was nothing there. Though," he added after a second. "I can go back there today and have another look, if you like?" Jason's beseeching eyes were full of hope. Pythagoras cursed his own stupidity for putting himself in the unenviable position of having to dash his friend's hopes, _again_.

"Come now, Jason," Hercules attempted to console. "It's a nice trinket but it's not the end of the world. We'll pick you up another necklace in the market." But Jason just sank back into the pillow and shook his head, sadly.

"It's not the necklace itself," he said, softly. "It's the only thing and the _last_ thing that my father ever gave me."

"Oh." He didn't seem to have a response for that. Instead, he awkwardly patted his shoulder and rose from the bed. "You should get some rest," he announced. "Things are always better after a good sleep." Weakly, Jason nodded, his heart already crippling inside as the last link he had to his father vanished. He felt the bed shift again as Pythagoras also rose.

"You need to try and eat soon," he told him. "I'll wake you in a couple of hours." Jason didn't think he felt like eating again. If the gnawing hunger in the pit of his stomach did not make him feel queasy enough, the crushing sense of loneliness robbed him of what little appetite he had left. But he didn't want to upset the friends who had been so kind to him, so he merely nodded.

"Stay in bed," Hercules warned him, pointing a meaty finger his way. Again, he nodded, though his thoughts were drifting miles away. Despite himself, the exertion was becoming too great for him and Jason found his eyelids sealing shut and felt, once more, the familiar roll into the abyss.

* * *

It was a clear night and the stars shone brightly. Without the cover of cloud, the air was cooler than usual but the light of the moon, cast across a sleeping city, was too intoxicating a lure for Jason to pass up. Since his ordeal in the cave, he had surprised even himself with his intense desire to see the sky. Through a window was passable but being outside himself was even better.

Not that he had been given the opportunity. In the two days since waking, Pythagoras had gently nagged him consistently about his need to rest and eat and drink. His body still needed to gain some strength for prolonged periods of time and the young mathematician was still not satisfied with his weight gain. Given his own lanky frame, Jason hardly thought it was fair for him to be his judge on that matter. But, it seemed, Hercules agreed with the genius and when a man like Hercules thrust food at you, rather than stealing it from your plate, you could not help but pay attention.

Threats and bullying had also worked wonders on him. Hercules could be intimidating when he wanted to be, not to mention when you happened to feel as weak as newborn kitten. He was yet to be allowed outside, despite his protests but that didn't mean he couldn't creep his way out onto the balcony of their house and lean against the wall, legs outstretched, gazing up at the sky. The last few days had been challenging. Not from his physical recovery but from his mental one.

Though he was loathed to admit it, Jason still woke in cold sweats, drenched through his shirt. He woke with a suffocating feeling, choking him, crushing him. He died alone in that cave, screaming for nobody, time and time again until eventually, either his screaming woke him or worse, it woke one of his friends who flitted in to his room just long enough to hush him back to sleep and then pretend it hadn't happened in the morning. He felt ridiculous for such treatment and yet he couldn't turn it away. The darkness unnerved him now. He hadn't really noticed it before but now he was very aware of how _dark_ it was without the artificial lighting he was used to from home.

But there was more to his dreams bothering him than he could put into words. It wasn't so much what he _could_ remember but more what he _couldn't_. Every time he woke from his nightmares, just for a second, he looked to his side and saw the silhouette of a woman's figure. He never heard her voice but sometimes he could swear he felt the touch of her smooth, cool hand on his brow and whenever he did, as ludicrous as it appeared, it calmed him. Sometimes he heard a man's voice and it was so familiar that it almost made him cry with frustration, trying to hold on to the sound of it, long enough to pin it down.

And there were _words_: maddening words that taunted and teased him – things he was _sure_ he must remember. Then, last night, when he woke gasping in familiar fear, he _did_ remember and the understanding of what he had learned, filled him with such peace and joy and _completeness_ that he felt himself start to cry with relief. And then, just as swiftly as it came to him, the knowledge left him again. All he could recall was that feeling of utter completeness and the confusing pieces of a puzzle he once had the picture to and the feeling that he would never remember _why_. He had been glad that he had not woken screaming, because it allowed him to cry silently to himself without detection.

"You shouldn't be out here."

Jason glanced up to the open doorway to see Hercules leaning against it. However, he didn't look like he was about to delve into another lecture, so Jason just gave him a small smile in return. "I won't be long," he assured his friend. "I just needed some air." Turning his head back to look out over the narrow street, Jason started in surprise when he felt something soft being draped around his shoulders. Hercules sat down next to him as Jason gently fingered the newly acquired blanket. "Thanks," he mumbled.

Hercules shrugged it off in his nonchalant manner. "You mustn't get cold," he lightly admonished. "There's a nip in the air tonight." Then he reached a hand across and passed Jason a chunk of bread. He looked down, saw it and sighed.

"If you feed me any more, I'm not going to fit in to my clothes!" he protested.

"They're still hanging off you," Hercules pointed out and he wasn't wrong. Jason's appetite was yet to resurface with vigour. "Just eat that," he insisted, "and I won't nag you about what you left at dinner." He watched as Jason's mouth curled in to an amused smile. "That's fair, isn't it?" he demanded, gently, the hint of teasing in his voice.

Jason didn't reply but he was rewarded by the young man taking an obliging bite out of the loaf and start chewing it slowly. Hercules gave a short nod of satisfaction. "So," he continued, leaving his friend to make a meal of chewing, "what's on your mind?" Jason shot him a guarded look, causing Hercules to shrug, innocently. "I'm not prying. Well, not really. But you look like you've got a thousand things on your mind. And I don't think your mind has room for a thousand things _on it_."

Jason let out a low chuckle. "Thanks a lot!" But he knew his friend's good intentions and suddenly, sitting side by side under the fresh night air, Jason felt a pressure inside his chest slowly release. "I don't sleep well," he admitted.

"I _had noticed_."

Jason winced. "I'm sorry," he said, embarrassment tingeing his cheeks red. "Really, you guys should just ignore me. I'll be fine." He ran a hand through his hair before burying his face in his palms. He was faintly surprised to feel a pair of strong hands pry his own away from his face. He looked in to the honest face of his friend who was wearing one of his rare, patient expressions.

"I won't think any less of you, Jason," he promised. "Well, I suppose I _can't_ think any less of you so you've got nothing to lose by telling me." His smile disarmed any harshness in his words and Jason couldn't help but chuckle.

"No, I guess not." He sighed. "I can't help but feel as though there's something I'm missing. About the cave. Some memory that I keep having and then forgetting. At least, I'm left with _impressions_, pieces of the larger picture. But I can't be sure if it's _real_ or if I just _dreamt_ it. It's driving me crazy."

"A memory about what?"

Jason hesitated. "A woman."

"Oh," Hercules drawled, wiggling his bushy eyebrows and elbowing him gently in his uninjured side. "One of _those_." But Jason just rolled his eyes and shook his head.

"Not like _that_. Part of me thinks she was in the cave with me."

"A _woman_?" Hercules questioned, doubtfully. "She wouldn't have been able to carry you down the mountain. Are you sure it wasn't just a dream?"

Jason sighed, wearily. "Probably. But something about it felt so real and…and I remember things I think she said."

Hercules leaned in, closer. "What things?" he asked, curiously. For a moment, he thought Jason would tell him. The young man opened his mouth to speak but at the last minute a look of fear flashed across his face. He closed his mouth again.

"Doesn't matter," he mumbled quietly. "I was just dreaming and I'd rather not say." He paused, for a moment afraid that he had hurt the man's feelings. But Hercules just shrugged,

"As you like. Come on," he said, rising to his feet and extending a hand to pull Jason up. "It's time to go back inside." Jason groaned but nonetheless, allowed himself to be pulled up standing, taking care not to aggravate the healing claw marks along his side.

"I don't _want_ to go back," he protested though he still followed his friend inside. "I know you. You're going to say that a whole _four hours_ of consciousness is far too long and that I need to rest some more."

Hercules turned to him, his expression once more resolute. "You _do_ need to rest, Jason. Trust me – you'll thank me one day." And with that, he ushered the protesting young man towards his room.

* * *

The Oracle's intricately painted hands swirled the waters, inked with blood, in her scrying bowl. She breathed in the pungent smell of the burning incense and smoking animal entrails and the thick, close air was almost stifling.

"Surely you must know the answer yourself," she told the waiting woman. "You swore an oath to Poseidon. To even _consider_ breaking such a promise would far from please the Gods."

From behind her, she heard the queen sigh, sharply and allowed herself a tiny, triumphant smile. "I do not know why you cannot answer a single one of my questions without twisting it back onto me," Pasiphae muttered. "I only wished to know the ramifications should I…"

"_When_ you…"

The woman nearly snarled. "_When_ I grant Aeson's request." The Oracle finally turned to face her as she continued. "Is that _so_ much to ask? Given you have kept every other pertinent piece of information from me!"

But the Oracle merely shook her head. "I tell..."

"…only what the gods reveal to you. Yes, I have heard these words before and I yet cannot help but marvel at their… _convenience_."

The Oracle raised a faintly amused eyebrow. "You question the Gods?"

The queen's expression soured and twisted. "I question _you_," she retorted. "I do not believe it the same thing. No matter. I shall uphold my end of the accord. He did…do what I asked him to. He helped me save my son."

"Is that why you keep it?" The question startled Pasiphae.

"Keep it?" However, her hand unconsciously betrayed her, moving to the silk purse that hung from her belt. The Oracle rose and stepped towards the queen. Pasiphae immediately drew back but not before the mystic had pointed a finger to the purse. Pasiphae set her mouth in a tight line. Her fingers deftly loosened the cord of the purse and slipped inside, withdrawing the gleaming necklace as though she felt again the pressing urge to hold it.

"It is not yours to keep," the Oracle pointed out, without any real malice – more honest curiosity. She was sure the queen meant to look scathing and dangerous…but in actuality, she only looked sad.

"_He_ is not mine to keep. The necklace is the _least_ I am owed."

"_I suppose that answers what I came here for."_

It was as if time itself had slowed to a halt in that single sentence. That voice, so unexpected and so achingly familiar. Pasiphae saw herself turn and a cold wave washed across her body. The necklace clattered to the floor and the Oracle took one step backwards. Whether or not she had been expecting this, none could say for sure.

"_Jason_?" Pasiphae's whisper echoed around those sacred walls.

Her son stood on the steps looking lost, alone, confused and angry. If he hadn't been numbed with pain and betrayal, he would have been _trembling_ with anger. "I came hoping _she_ would finally be honest with me," he intoned in a low, strangled voice, barely indicating the Oracle with a nod of his head. "But it turns out _you're_ the only answer I needed." His voice sounded so raw, so confused and so young.

The Oracle, it seemed, had melted into the background, leaving mother and son to face each other. Pasiphae's mouth hung open. Her lips moved silently, forming words she couldn't put a voice to.

He knew. He _knew_. All her plans, all her safeguards and manipulation…all had come to nothing because here was this boy, standing before her; hurting, _needing_. And now that _he _knew, Pasiphae finally allowed the rest of him into her heart.

"Jason," she said again, finally finding her voice. She watched him recoil visibly when she called him by name. It was a fine name: _she_ had given it to him. Had he ever heard her say it before? Vaguely, she tried to remember and could not. He was hovering on the bottom step, his feet frozen in place. But his eyes were darting wildly. She knew the look – like a frightened animal, caged and unsure whether to make a stand or flee. His mother didn't know him well enough yet to know which way he would turn.

"Will you stay a moment?" she heard herself ask him, close to pleading. "Just a few moments. I believe we have some things we must…discuss." It felt too soon to smile but she hoped her face did not betray her emotions: her doubt, her love, her own fears. She watched him a moment longer. His hands shook slightly by his sides though it was not in anger. His face was still pale and drawn – he should still be resting, it suddenly occurred to her.

Jason watched this woman; his queen, his enemy, his mother. He watched her, transfixed. And then, just like that, his left foot moved down a step and the other followed. He saw her release a breath that he hadn't realised she'd been holding. It helped to make her more…human. But more than that? He didn't know. None of this was _right_. None of this was _real_. Yet he stayed and he listened because what else could he do?

As Pasiphae prepared to speak, she still did not know what she was going to say. But that did not matter. At that moment, there were only the two of them in the world and nothing else. Jason was _hers_. He _was_. Jason knew it and soon, Minos would know it, too. She did not know what the future held for them from here on out, but they would not spend it hiding from the truth any longer.

* * *

The End. Thanks for reading It's been an interesting dip in the waters and I hope people have enjoyed it.


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